Crack Trio
by Satan's Spikey Thong
Summary: Sakon x HMS x Postman. Dear, Hylia. Rated M for sexual themes and language.


Sakon pranced around the entrance to his hideout in Ikana Canyon, all careless and gay.

Not gay as in homosexual gay, but gay as in happy. Silly faggots. Well, suppose he could be homosexual gay, too. This IS a slash.

Anyway, he simply couldn't wait to store away the new treasures he carried in the thin satchel on his back. What a joy it had been stealing those bombs from that helpless, old lady! The thief was glad there was plenty enough to keep some for himself, too, having sold most of them to the Curiosity Shop.

He recited the secret, very sexy, magic words to open the giant boulder blocking entrance to his piled fortunes and continued his feminine trot inside.

Past the boxes of Lon Lon bottles, bags of rupees, and neatly stacked crates of various trinkets, Sakon threw the explosives aside and made his way toward the center of the large cave.

A light shown through a hole in the ceiling, illuminating a singular, clear case centered among everything else. His heart seemed to race from a thread of excitement, for inside this case was a treasure like no other: A brightly adorned, yellow mask crafted to perfection that gave the obvious impression of the sun.

Yes, this mask was his most valued treasure! Priceless and beautiful! Those bombs meant nothing to this story's plot.

He swooned over the piece with adoration, taking in the glistening details of the warm gems and décor. Though he loved it so much, he felt sadness that this wondrous object would not be his for long.

You see, the mask was owed to no other than the Happy Mask Salesman.

That grinning fool had enough masks! Why must he take this one in payment? It seemed so unfair!

"Alas," Sakon sighed, "he did do me a great favour in protecting my identity that time we sought forth to steal from that Kafei kid. This is just one of many new valuables I acquired on that trip." He pressed his hands against the cool glass, peering in closer at the mask. What had to be done would be done. Of course, he would hate to let it go, but what other choice was there?

Foreshadowing? Oh, yes!

A few moments of inner grieving passed until an idea emerged in Sakon's cunning mind.

The Mask Salesman was a fairly cooperative guy. Even if he refused rupees or any larger amount of payment for his deed, he had to have another weakness. Ah, but his title wasn't given to him for no reason! Masks are his collection; they are what define him most!

"This will be difficult, but I believe I can manage if I play my words right," Sakon spoke audibly, but to himself. He leaned back from the case, leaving fogged smudges on the glass. Another short minute of admiration, then he turned and left to begin his journey to the Clock Town tower.

.::.

The Happy Mask Salesman may always seem to be an all-around cheerful individual; however, he carries a great burden on his shoulders now.

It was bad enough he was relying on a child to bring him back his cursed mask of Majora. If Link wasn't able to retrieve it in time, everyone in Termina was doomed.

He also wasn't very joyful about having to hide out inside the Clock Tower, albeit his outsider clothing would make him look suspicious if he ventured out.

His face was unfamiliar to most of the residents of this land, but there was one guy in particular he associated with that lived up in the canyon.

HMS has the biggest grin you'll ever see on someone's face, but Sakon was far more cheerful. Facial features meant nothing when it came to that guy. He was always prancing around stealing people's belongings like it was no chore at all. Like child's play, but with adults. And masks. And sometimes, bombs.

The Salesman smiled to himself. "That crazy little fucker," he thought aloud, "I wonder if he has my mask polished yet. He is due a visit any day now."

.::.

"AYYYYYYYE! IT'S MAIL-TIME, MOTHA' FUCKA'S!" The Postman chimed, cupping his hand around his lips to amplify his message.

It was hard work delivering mail to those who lived outside Clock Town itself, but it must be said that the most difficult delivery was that of Ikana's only establishment.

A man lived in the center of the canyon with his daughter, and supposedly studied the dead. Such dangerous work is why the Postman stuck with his current and only job. Even despite these rough courses, he would never allow his schedule to be interrupted.

Delivering mail was more than a duty; it was life! So, with his bag of letters slung over one shoulder and his red bunny hat tilted up above his forehead, he dashed off back up the path to Termina Field.

The light of day had slowly faded until the sky was left a dark orange. Mail delivery was an all-day process here, and because this house was the furthest, it got its delivery last.

The Postman was tired now. He'd jogged all day to get the people what they wanted, nay, _needed_. "Live, sleep, breath mail!" And with that, he closed his eyes and let the wind guide his path.

Until Sakon barreled into him at OVER NINE THOUSAND MPH. Fuck, Sakon. Get your shit together.

.::.

"How about you watch where _you're_ going?" Sakon scoffed, prancing in place in front of the Postman. Good thing he wasn't still carrying those bombs.

"Me? I am on a schedule, here!" Said man replied. He was also baring a scowl, jogging in place. "Hmpf!"

"Don't "hmpf" me, mailman!"

"Shut it, thief! And move out of my way!"

"Thief?" Sakon halted, holding his hand to his chest in a look of false innocence he knew he bore, "Why, I would never steal. Not a thing."

"Lies! I see you gallop through here every day! You are always carrying some bulging goodie in that satchel, and then the next day there would be reports on stolen merchandise. Do not lie!"

"I'm not! Honestly," he defended, irritable at this accusation. Well, it was a true accusation, but one nonetheless. What gave this guy the right to judge him?

"I should turn you in right now!" The Postman, still in a jog, crossed his arms. Obviously irate himself that this conversation was even continuing, he pushed past Sakon.

"Whatever! I have no time to deal with such things! I have somewhere to be, too. A delivery of my own!"

The Postman paused and turned around. "Delivery?" That caught his attention.

"Yes. A message. I'll never make it to Clock Town before midnight, though." He didn't want to admit it, but Sakon wasn't the fastest runner in Termina. If anyone owned that title officially it had to be the Postman, who was fumbling in his bags by now.

He pulled out a pen and a piece of blank parchment. "I could handle it for you. Ikana was my last stop for today's route. Just tell me what to say and where to send."

.::.

"Something else I can offer?" HMS frowned as he read the letter from Sakon.

"YAH! I met him on his way here from Ikana. I think he turned back, though," the Postman replied, hanging his head in defeat of the long day's run.

"Stupid Sakon. If he thinks he can pay me any other way, he better get his fine ass ov-"

But he was interrupted when the Clock Tower door was thrust open and the thief himself fell onto the floor clumsily before them. He moaned from pain as he recollected himself, the other two remaining quiet. "I forgot…" he huffed, hands on his knees, "…to tell you that I could give you some of the Bomb Shop's most priceless stock, if you want. And I…huh, I knew you would rather discuss this in person."

HMS narrowed his eyes in an inner rage, furrowing his brow to complete the look of anger. "I will not accept those. If you want to pay me something other than the Sun Mask, you must give up something of your own; something precious that you could not obtain naturally from anyone else." And then he smirked.

"What? What? WHAT?" Sakon pleaded.

"Your virginity." And then everyone stood silent for the longest time. An air of awe floated amongst the three, the poor Postman having to be there to hear this conversation.

Actually, he was probably enjoying it. Scratch that, he was. Awkward was totally his middle name.

No it wasn't, but that doesn't matter!

At last, HMS spoke again, "You can't possibly value that mask so much, now can you?"

Sakon's response was shocking, but blunt, "I'll do it. I mean, I'll do you. Or vice versa."

In an instant the Mask Salesman was bare. Not like "bare to the underwear" bare, but bare bare. Naked. Nude. Cloth-less. He was a stripping magician. A horny stripping magician that was actually a mask seller.

His cock was already erect.

"I accept your offer," he grinned even wider than usual.

The Postman, freaked out thoroughly by this situation for some reason, backed up against the Clock Tower doors, "AYE! NO WAY! That shit is CRAY."

"Postman!" HMS called.

"Eh?!"

"You like the dick?"

"Yah."

"Get your ass over here, too."

"Okay."

Like obedient pets, Sakon and the Postman freed themselves of their clothing. They kneeled before the Mask Salesman in a submissive manner, ready for the taking.

And HMS stood over Sakon from the back, preparing to slip his cock right inside his poop hole. Lubrication was way too mainstream in Termina, anyway. He liked going in rough and making his victims scream. Oh yea.

Before he even made a move, though, the Postman interrupted the mood by jumping up and running out of the tower, flailing his arms and screaming like a twelve-year-old girl at one of those Zora boy band concerts.

"LOL What?" Sakon inquired, wiggling his bare ass. HMS took this moment of awkwardness and confusion to thrust right in to the prancy-pants, which caused him to squeak in a way more horrendous than that of the Postman.

"OH, SAKON. YOU LITTLE SLUT, YOU." HMS sighed, drawing back and forcing himself in deeper. And his "little slut" moaned just like one. And damn, was it tight! Shoulda' used that lube after all.

"HAA-HA!"

"YES. MOAN, GREEDY FILTH."

Sakon arched his body in a magnificent display of submission, gripping the hard-wood floor in a wave of pleasure. Yummy sweat beaded his body. Intense quivers shook him with each thrust. It was the most sensual act of gay sex in all of Termina!

Annnd it was about to get spicier, too.

Postman re-entered the scene, bashing through the tower doors wrapped in black pvc. He held a riding crop in one hand and had an "I mean srs bsns" face. And this was as real as shit could get. He stepped forward with a gait gayer than his prance, slapping the crop against his palm. "Time to dominate this orgy, sugar tits."

HMS pondered for a moment, as he stood paralyzed by this sight, where in Termina this man even acquired pvc leather and who the fuck sold it to him.

"I blame the Curiosity Shop guy…" Sakon hung his head, still breathing heavy with HMS' cock between his buttocks.

"NO. BLAME JUSTICE!" The Postman swooped in, squawking like a bird, and grabbed the nude Sakon. Then fluttered away into the night because his pvc uniform had secret wing expansions. BAM!

Poor HMS was left lonely, horny, and without his mask.

The end, bitches!


End file.
